The Blood of My Passion
by theartsofseduction
Summary: B has an irrational obsession with L. He also wants a little feel of his scarlet blood. A bizarre B x L


_May the blood of many replenish my strength and give me youth and beauty. The scarlet red liquid glistening from a split vein as it runs down the shaking skin. It glistens, beckoning to me as if it naturally knows that I am to become one with it soon._

_Blood of the purest, blood of my Passion: Cleanse my impurities and correct my flaws, lest my love be faded slowly. The blood of my Passion, my Ryuzaki; it is your blood that I want to wash over me._

Dark brown eyes peered through a cracked window at a figure who wrote on aged paper with feather and ink. His eyes watched the movement of the quill, hungrily imagining it to be loaded with nature's liquid of youth: Blood.

This man, this Ryuzaki, his life replenishing liquid that ran through his veins… He knew he had to have it. It must be his. B smirked as he recalled a moment in time where L had accidentally had his finger split with something as innocent as a needle misplaced in even the simplest task of fixing the hem of his shirt.

At that moment B knew that the answer to his aging would be that very concoction that slowly dripped from that fingertip. He knew it, and it would be so.

The rain slowly dripped down the windowpane, clear as a crystal as it danced its way down the glass. B's pale palm and fingertips caressed a drop, and slid down the pane. His eyes peered deeply into the candlelit room. The warmth of the orange glow made his stomach flutter somewhat as he watched the lifelike flame flicker and dance on the wick, allowing the writer in the desk to continue with his ministrations.

From here it was only a small challenge to read the beauty script that was Ryuzaki's:

_Dear Watari,_

_Ever since the evening just barely a fortnight ago I have been feeling this uneasiness of being alone without the protection of my paternal advisor. I do understand that as a young adult I must live on my own, to be able to care for myself, but you need to understand… This feeling grows intense with each passing evening. The moon does cower in this feeling as well, making its reflection on the moon pool in the yard quiver uneasily as do I._

_I wonder, would my parents be this gripped by unexplainable paranoia? I do think they would not. Possibly through noble intellect that they have so graciously passed down to me would they think of such a rational reason? Perhaps the tides are shifting although it affects the female persuasion more than a male, I must point out._

_Regardless of my situation, I urge you to worry not for my wellbeing. Although it may sound peculiar, I have learned how to defend myself. Fear not, for I will be fine. You have taught me well in place of my late parents. How I miss them…_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Ryuzaki_

B tried to listen to the soft scratching of the feather's pen tip etching the letters onto the ivory paper. The black ink seemed to be his signal to try and claim his victim, his Passion.

The rain almost came down harder, the threat of thunder in the distance as its faint crackle and boom sounded. B's feet squished, bare, with the mud between his toes as he made his way to the back door of the small and quaint abode. The outside was painted a gentle ivory; just as was the paper its owner had been inscribing a letter on moments previous.

His pale, almost white, fingers curled around the aging doorknob. With a turn he heard the lock click out of place. He followed this action with a cautious push of the wooden door which creaked as if it had been a loose board in the floor that had been stepped on. The silhouettes that were cast from various objects in the room instantly flooded the area before B.

B's lustful hunger for Ryuzaki couldn't become any stronger than it already was. His tatter and torn robes smearing mud here and there. He realized this, and stopped in mid-step. B narrowed his eyes, tracking back a step and wiping his feet on the small carpet in front of the door. The mud clung to the small wire curls that made up the mat.

As for his robes, he immediately discarded them. The rested on a nearby coat rack, his clothing underneath outshining his robe. He always tried this, to appear ratty and poor, but underneath the surface was a wealthy psycho-maniac. His clothes were red, black, a dark emerald green, and a small amount of purple as he looked around the room, taking in every detail as to make sure he did not make a mistake.

A mistake, each mistake, could be fatal and give his position away. B was so close, _so close_, and yet one mistake could push him kilometers away from his standing point. His eyes cut to a danger glare as his bare feet gently lifted off of that mat. His foot then rested against the cool wood which proved to remain silent. They were not traitorous to him, sending a sound to Ryuzaki's paranoid ears.

The shadow that was set against the wall as B took each steady step hunched over in its traditional form. B's straightened back mismatched his silhouette, bending the laws of reality and all understanding. His soft chuckle could only be heard by him and the furniture that seemed to stare at him from their places on the polished wooden flooring.

Step by step did his feet take him closer to his Passion. B's heart raced at the prospect of feeling the thickened solution running down his fingers, his arms, and his legs.

_Be courteous B, don't get too excited. Lest it murder the thrill of the actual event. Fantasizing of the moment will dull the anticipation and the adrenalin when it comes to present itself to you… Relax and wait; make haste of your situation._

The dark brown eyes caught sight of the soft flickering glow of orange that he had seen not minutes ago. A crooked and twisted smile curled his lips upward as he approached the door that was just slightly ajar. The crack was open just enough for him to watch his Passion examine his written work, making corrections, if there were any, before concluding that it would be the final copy that he would send to the man named "Watari."

Being traitor to himself, his crooked smiling lips parted and released a chuckle of the utmost insanity. It was so quiet, however, that not even the mice that crept in the walls would hear it.

Ryuzaki got to his feet, looking down at the ivory paper, his eyes glistening with pride at the beautiful curls and fine lines of his perfect script. He folded it between slender fingers and, carefully not to ruin his perfect folding job, slid it into the envelope in which would be sent the following morning.

B pushed the door open just enough to fit his body between the spaces. His eyes sparkled with his lustful craving once more. With each silent step he made he grew closer to the man he claimed to be his Passion. His fingers reached out, creating a bizarre contour across the walls of white that resembled his own skin.

The crookedness of his fingers appeared to be spider's legs as they creeped ever closer towards their prize. Ryuzaki gazed out of his window, watching the rain fall listlessly without even a notion.

A small breeze from the small opening in the window brushed against Ryuzaki's skin, making goose bumps appear in chill.

"My…" he whispered to himself.

B smirked; his skin would be perfect in this condition. Chilled, but not too cold to split, the perfect temperature to penetrate was the skin. He gracefully stepped over, blowing out the candle in silence.

He could hear Ryuzaki tense up. It sounded like leaves gusting across the cobblestone streets only with less intensity. His breathing sounded much like a gust of wind, lifting the very same leaves from the ground in a vicious attempt to pull them from their resting place, refusing to let the leaves rot on the ground.

"Who are you?" Ryuzaki asked, his voice sounded tense but soft nonetheless. "Are you the one who has been following me?"

"My Passion…" B whispered from the corner of the room. He took more silent steps towards his prey that stood rigid in his place. "My Passion… You…"

Ryuzaki's mind tried to calculate the meaning behind these broken sentences. He hadn't met this man, his voice unfamiliar, how could he be his "Passion?" It made no sense to him. Perhaps he had had a stalker and had been unaware of it?

"Please… I have done nothing to you."

"Nothing that you are conscious of."

B released a hollow chuckle, his fingers wrapping around Ryuzaki's wrist, the cold wrist with goose bumps, and pulled him away from his glass reflector. The rain pelting the side of the windowpane, as if the sky was crying for a loss it seemed thought to be coming.

But B had no intension of bringing death upon his Passion. He would love for this man to live. This man provided his constant entertainment as he watched him write and eat, drink, and bathe night after night after night. B's crooked smile met Ryuzaki's neck; he could feel the man's heartbeat racing from the pulse in his neck.

"Don't be scared," he mumbled against the chilled and shaking skin. "I am not to kill you in this fine hour of the evening. Wasting your life just for a need I wish to fulfill would be simply selfish of me, and I reassure you, I am not selfish."

Carefully did B drag his Passion, his Ryuzaki, into the room where knives were often kept. He pulled out a small, silver blade that shone in the small glint of moonlight that filtered through the cracked glass of the living room. He pressed the blade's teeth against Ryuzaki's flesh, his wrist exposed and vulnerable as the blade pressed closer to the vein.

"This will only hurt for a moment," B cooed as he felt the man shaking in his grip.

"What is it, exactly, that you intend to do with me…?" Ryuzaki's voice asked, shaking slightly now. "I don't have anything you want."

"Mm, but you do."

"Why must you inflict harm upon me to retrieve it then…?"

"It is within you, what I want."

B could hear this man's Adam's apple move as he swallowed the saliva that had been in his mouth. He smirked as he brought the blade against the skin, splitting it with ease and watching the red liquid slither from between the two pieces of skin, through the only opening.

"Look at how beautiful it is…" B commented.

He could hear Ryuzaki beginning to hyperventilate. He didn't want his Passion to faint or pass out from fear. However that was a high factor he was very well aware of. He brought the wrist to his eyelevel, his own hand shaking as he pressed his thumb against the wound.

"It feels like silk," he muttered.

"Oh god…" Ryuzaki swallowed. B heard him gag, the reflexes must have been kicking in. "You are a sick man."

"I am aware of this fact," B spoke in his nonchalant voice. "Find comfort in the insanity."

"Never will I…"

B squeezed the wrist, watching slowly as blood dripped out. He decided this wasn't enough. He brought the blade to the wrist once more, putting a longer cut across this skin. He watched more leak out, Ryuzaki becoming heavier as he held up his torso, his wrist aimed down towards the floor, below his heart.

The blood began to come out at a satisfactory level. B smiled, taking his fingers along the lengthy wound and retrieving the escaping blood. He placed it on his cheeks, making them into a sick war paint as he rubbed the thick solution into his skin.

"This feels wonderful…" he muttered.

"You're insane…" Ryuzaki muttered.

The man named Ryuzaki was struggling with consciousness as he felt his head growing lighter. He swallowed roughly, and felt the last of consciousness leave him. He fell towards the floor with a loud thump, the lightning and thunder cracking outside the window. Had he tried to scream for help he would not have been heard, even by his neighbors.

B kneeled beside the unconscious body, taking the blood and used it as a perverted lotion to his skin. His eyes glowed with a sick and disgusting pleasure as he did so.

When he felt satisfied B wrapped Ryuzaki's wrist in a small cloth he found lying in a drawer. He tied it over the cut, whispering in the unconscious one's ear, "Thank you for your generous donation."

He got to his feet and opened the door, watching the lightning in the distance strike a tree.

When he walked out into the rain, it began to smudge the blood of Ryuzaki's pain, and the fruits of B's labor. The streaks resembled tears as they slide beneath his eyes.

"Thank you very much."


End file.
